


Swept Away

by suqua (wuhnona)



Series: Bondverse Napollya [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Disabled Character, Epilogue, Fluff, Illya is the 00 Agent, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Napoleon is the Quartermaster, Prosthesis, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 12:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20114866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuhnona/pseuds/suqua
Summary: “I was sitting over there, waiting for my new Quartermaster and thinking that it would be nice if he would finally show up... because I wanted to talk to a beautiful man I saw standing right here. Now... now I think I started to fall that day."





	Swept Away

**Author's Note:**

> When I researched galleries for possibly changing the painting in the first one to a not-same-as-in-Skyfall painting, I couldn't help but imagine the pair of them walking around the exhibits I saw were open. All of the events/exhibitions/tours they go on were open in early July 2019.
> 
> Title taken again from Skyfall, title track from movie by Adele.
> 
> Not really a standalone but if you truly want to ignore allusions and direct references to events in the other fic, it COULD be.

* * *

"You aren't even looking at the art today." Napoleon accused, staring up at the enormous painting overhead. "_And_ you've pushed me away from every painting including nudity so far this week, which I maintain is_ very_ cute and bizarrely insecure of you."

Illya scoffed. "Not insecurity. You would stand in front of every painting for half hour if I let you," Illya crossed his arms and pointedly gave the painting in front of them his attention. "Besides, _you_ stare at landscape with same reverence as nudes. If I were insecure, never bring you to gallery in first place."

"Hmmm, some are just _so_ good it's indecent," Napoleon stepped forward just a little closer. His hand habitually coming up in a pose that Illya was now quite familiar with. Napoleon's hand covering his mouth, blue eyes scanning the painting critically. Napoleon could spend hours dissecting a single piece of art. He did the same with sculptures, slowly circling around them. He'd examine them until he had a crick in his neck. Illya had even seen him bent over his laptop in such a pose, examining code.

Napoleon had been delighted when Illya had revealed what he’d planned for their first ever joint vacation. It had been hell to arrange, favors called in and new favors handed out. Illya had managed to convince M to help him out with the possible legal troubles.

When Moneypenny had learned that they wouldn’t even be leaving London, she had stared at Illya and shook her head with a look that said, 'What's the Point?' Illya had shrugged, giving the excuse that he frequented faraway locales for missions year round and a leisurely stroll seemed much more idyllic. Then, he had asked her to ensure that if anything arise requiring a 00, maybe prioritize a different 00. Napoleon had trained himself several possible stand-ins for emergencies for times like this, and Q Branch was well taken care of.

And that week was for Napoleon, anyway. Naturally, he was giddy to be able to visit more than one gallery that he only had limited permission to visit.

At the proposal of the vacation, Napoleon requested very specific dates with reasoning being something vaguely worked-related. Once they finally crossed the last day on the calendar, Illya was relieved.

But it turned out that Napoleon was hiding a surprise, one that _Illya_ hadn’t expected.

Somehow, he managed to drag Illya out of bed when he was still a bit jet lagged from a simple mission assisting in reconnaissance, his last before their vacation. After a nice breakfast, instead of heading back home, Napoleon parked somewhere very different. Napoleon had just grinned at Illya’s face when they’d walked up to the [Masterpiece London Art Fair](https://www.russianartandculture.com/masterpiece-london-2019-highlights-and-works-of-russian-art/), this year hosting Russian Masters.

Illya had put all of his attention on other things the past several weeks, completely missing advertisements for the art fair. At first, he had felt foolish but the look on Napoleon’s face when he’d seen Illya’s reaction begrudgingly made up for it.

Illya gazed up at some he remembered as framed prints on the wall of his childhood _dacha_, the country home he and his mother lived in back in Russia. He hadn’t thought of the house, much less the pictures on the wall in two _decades_.

When Illya had trouble walking away from them, Napoleon had softly described the artist, their technique, and history until Illya felt he knew everything about the beautiful pictures he'd once walked by every day and a sense of why his mother loved _those_ pictures. Before, all Illya had only known about them was that his mother loved them.

At the Tate Modern, Napoleon had _again _surprised _Illya_ by booking them a tour of the famous Russian artist [Natalia Goncharova's](https://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-modern/exhibition/natalia-goncharova) works by a curator who would be giving the tour _in_ Russian. Illya had sighed and pulled Napoleon into a kiss in the middle of the crowded museum, rumpling the tickets between them. They’d both paid close attention to that tour, Napoleon fascinated by the perspective of not one but several native Russians who were in the same tour group.

They took in the Van Gogh exhibit, which was featuring [a colorful, special menu in the restaurant](https://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/exhibition/ey-exhibition-van-gogh-and-britain). Illya produced the tickets to that special lunch, Napoleon the one surprised that time, interested in the arrangement and flavors of the Dutch dishes. The food itself was arranged to mirror the style of Van Gogh.

More than once, Napoleon would stop and ponder aloud how on earth he could be so lucky. It wasn’t even his birthday, it was actually closer to _Illya’s_ birthday. Illya didn’t enjoy galleries, did he?

Illya smiled, shrugged. He’d repeat the same he had told to Moneypenny, but also assuring Napoleon that he _was_ enjoying himself and that surprises Napoleon had given _him_ made it all the more worth it.

There was one little game Illya could not help but play. At the end of each outing and before leaving the gallery, Illya cornered Napoleon in a discreet spot ensuring a wall behind him. Illya put on his most serious expression and said that needed to ensure none of the art came home with them.

After the art fair, Napoleon had laughed and given Illya a heated _look_ as Illya ran hands down his torso. After the Tate Modern, they just made out against the wall until, like overexcited teenagers, they were scolded and shooed off by a laughing security guard.

When they went home for the night, both drained from the long days and bustle of London, he had helped Napoleon remove his prosthetic while the cats, Sapphire and Samson, both lay on his back. The cats disliked Napoleon’s longer absences and Illya’s ever since he became a part of their life- well, since he started sharing the task of feeding them. They purred and kneaded Napoleon’s sweater while Illya, using the moment of distraction from the cats, checked to make sure Napoleon’s leg was all right from all of the constant walking in the summer heat.

Of course, while Napoleon was fully capable of taking care of himself, Illya took the opportunity to double-check for him because if there was any time he didn’t want Napoleon experiencing _any _pain or discomfort, it was _this_ week.

Illya saved The National Gallery for last.

Napoleon had been wearing head-to-toe couture that day. Today was almost the same, only slightly more casual and lighter for the warmer weather of mid-summer.

That morning, Illya had casually mentioned to Napoleon that they would need to stop at MI6 for a short meeting with M after the gallery. And that the Prime Minister might be there.

Ever the peacock, Napoleon had eyed the slightly _too_ casual combination of clothing he had almost chosen and asked Illya to pick him something new to wear while he finished getting ready. It wasn’t the first time. Since they started living together, Napoleon more often deferred to Illya’s choices and had once confessed to finding it strange to choose for himself again, those times that Illya was out of London for a mission.

This time, Illya had just smiled to himself in victory as he took out a sweater that always set off Napoleon’s blue eyes, a frame for his prosthetic that matched his eyeglasses, and then taken out a color complementary suit for himself.

As they strode into Room 34 of The National Gallery, Napoleon smiled. "Oh, this is familiar," he said with a chuckle, eyes sweeping the hall and the scattered patrons gazing upward in awe.

Illya eyed the direction of the bench he’d been told, such a long time ago, to meet his new Quartermaster.

They walk past a century of Great Britain works very slowly, Illya ever the patient man.

There are many beautiful landscapes and portraits in that room, including the immortal rearing horse, [Whistlejacket](https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/george-stubbs-whistlejacket)_. _Napoleon chuckles and points out a mother juggling two wriggling toddlers. From where they stood, the [Lady Cockburn and Her Three Eldest Sons](https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/sir-joshua-reynolds-lady-cockburn-and-her-three-eldest-sons) was directly behind her.

Of course, they stop in front of [The Fighting Temeraire](https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/joseph-mallord-william-turner-the-fighting-temeraire)and this time Illya sits at the correct bench. Napoleon sits with him, both looking up at the painting. For a moment neither of them talk. The sound of the chatter and footsteps of the gallery surrounds them.

"What were you thinking about that day, when you looked at this painting?" Illya asked eventually, a question he'd wondered a time or two.

Napoleon, already examining the painting again, furrows his brow. "I don't remember exactly, but..." he inhales. "Oh! I think I remember. Turner loved this painting, I was thinking about that.”

“Did he?”

“Oh yes, it was his favorite, he regretted parting from it after lending it out once and couldn't be parted from it in life. He refused to sell it at any price. His technique for separating sea and sky, the warm colors of the sunset and the cool colors of the water, the details on the ship. Really looking at it made me understand why he called it ‘his darling’.” He inhales, letting it out in a gust. “At least, that’s what I was _probably_ thinking about. At some point, I was definitely thinking, ‘_Oh damn, what time is it?_’”

Illya chuckled at that but doesn’t say another word. For a few minutes, he just waits for his cue.

Sure enough, eventually Napoleon’s eyes change. His gaze becomes more discerning, studious of the art in front of him. The backs of his fingers press against his mouth as he looked at the painting again, thoughtful. After a moment, he stands and approaches the painting.

Finally within the moment, Illya was getting nervous. He drew in a breath, letting it out slowly as he stood up. His heart started racing.

Over the week, Illya had noticed, watching Napoleon drink in the artwork at his leisure, that he had plenty of tells when his guard was fully down. Illya could tell when Napoleon was done assessing a painting and ready to move on.

Just as Napoleon’s dropped his hand from his face and was about to turn, Illya lets the tiny, tiny box he’d prepared for this drop into his palm. His hands were behind his back and he was doing his best to _only_ smile, holding back the nervous laughter twitching at his mouth.

When Napoleon turns, he double takes at Illya’s posture and expression. Narrowing his eyes, he starts to step forward while checking his pockets. “Did you steal my keys again? You have gotten _much_ better at pickpocketing, Peril- I’ll give you that. But you’ll be driving _yourself_ home if you steal my keys again today.” The keys jingle in his pocket.

For the last few weeks, Illya had been playing a game with Napoleon. When he was looking for anything that Illya could fit in the palm of his hand, he’d do his best to find it first and make him choose between two hands to get it. He’d also improved his pickpocketing skills by practicing on a master thief, stealing his keys or whatever else he could.

Illya was hoping that the other man would let his guard down and just think of it as... a little joke. He was also banking on Napoleon trying to learn his little tells, the little shakes of his hands and nodding or shaking of his head.

When Napoleon was stood closer in front of him, Illya took both hands out in front of him.

“Maybe I get you present,” Illya said, trying his damnedest not to smile too much. He knows the restraint was obvious to someone like Napoleon, who now knew Illya too well and too intimately to _not_ notice. “Choose.”

The idea of a present must be appealing because Napoleon nods his head, eyebrows raised and lips pursed in thought. He assumed a version of the same pose he took when he was studying art, one finger lifting to his lips as he peers between the offered hands. Napoleon glances up at Illya, who just lifts his brows a notch in placating innocence, making Napoleon exhale a soft laugh.

Illya shook the left hand, watching Napoleon eye it with suspicion. Illya shook his head slightly, shaking the other and nodding for that one.

Finally, Napoleon tapped the wrong hand and frowned when it was empty.

Napoleon sighed and rolled his eyes. He begrudgingly tapped the other hand, already holding his own out for whatever it is.

Illya doesn’t give him the box, but took his hand. “May I tell you something?”

Giving him an odd look, Napoleon nods slowly. “Go right ahead, Peril?”

Illya tilts his head toward the bench where he’d sat once before. “I was sitting over there, waiting for my new Quartermaster and thinking that it would be_ nice_ if he would finally showed up.”

Napoleon smirked.

Illya swallowed, “_Because_ I wanted to talk to a beautiful man I saw standing right here."

Napoleon was blushing already. "Illya-"

"Wait," Illya pleaded softly, and Napoleon's expression was briefly concerned. "Now... now I think I started to fall that day."

The beautiful smile returned, Napoleon's hand in Illya's squeezing slightly. 

Illya's voice trembled only slightly. "And then when I knew you, was like was falling for over and over again, every mission we worked together and every mission we didn’t. Those were even harder, I think."

The look on Napoleon's face was like he wanted to say something but Illya had to press onward. He took a breath and his voice came out a whisper. "Piece by piece, I fell for you until I was swept away.”

“Didn’t think this was possible for me at all,” Illya said, indicating the space between them with a slight nod of his head. “But could not deny I wanted life with you when given opportunity. So I am glad you were- _are_ easily flustered when it comes to me.” He smirked.

Napoleon blushed _more_, looking down at his shoes briefly to let out a nervous laugh before looking back up at Illya.

“So I am hoping,” Illya said softly, swallowing. “Because I think I found at least one word to call what you are to me...”

Napoleon’s forehead crinkles. Illya takes a half-step back and smoothly goes down onto one knee and Napoleon gasps, free hand flying up to cover his mouth.

A few other gallery patrons gasp as well, most of the room oblivious. Neither Illya or Napoleon notice.

“I think _fiancé_ sounds okay,” Illya says with one shoulder shrug as he opens the small box to show the dark metal band inside. “But I like _husband_ better.”

Napoleon begins to laugh softly behind his hand, dropping it until it was resting just over his heart. “I... I agree with you there, Peril,” he says thickly, unable to tear shining eyes away from Illya.

Illya doesn’t want to look away from Napoleon either, whose expression was so incredibly _happy_.

He is so caught up in Napoleon that his voice is a little lower when he remembers to finish saying what he’d prepared beforehand, “I am,” Illya swallows the lump growing in his throat, trying not to laugh nervously. “I am _fucking crazy about you_, Napoleon... Will you please marry me?”

Napoleon nods furiously, pulling Illya back up to his feet as he says, “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over until he can’t because Illya’s kissing him and he’s kissing back, holding on tight. For a few moments they just laugh and kiss between them before they realize there’s _noise_ around them that brings them out of the stupor momentarily.

Throughout room 34, more patrons had noticed and a number of them were looking over and clapping gently with a few wet eyes among them. Illya waves one hand awkwardly to the crowd briefly before turning back to Napoleon, taking the ring out of the box and slipping it onto his fiancé’s hand.

Napoleon grins when Illya places a second ring into Napoleon’s hand and lifts his own hand up. “You got your own ring?” Napoleon said, taking it and looking between the the one on his hand and the one he held. “What if I wanted to pick it out?”

Illya shrugged. “Wanted to match.”

“It has to match?” Napoleon said, slipping it right on Illya’s and interlacing their fingers. “I thought you hated that.”

“Not always,” Illya says quietly as Napoleon steps just a little closer. Illya tips forward enough that their foreheads touch, meeting Napoleon’s adoring gaze with his own. “I love you.”

Napoleon sighs happily. “I love _you_,” he says softly, “Do you know when I knew that?" 

"When?" 

Napoleon's hands slide up and behind Illya's neck. "I've _always_ liked you, even when they had me read up on the 00s, I knew there was something about you. And of course, I knew you were _gorgeous._ I also didn't think_ this_ was going to happen." He patted the hand with the ring. "But the first inkling I had that there was something more when you rescued that group of kids." 

"Really?" 

"Mmm. You were trying to win them over and when that little Russian child spoke to you in Russian, your smile..." Napoleon sighed. "I don't know, the supposedly ruthless 00 smiling at a baby. It was heart-melting." 

Illya snickers softly. "So you fell for me because you wanted perfect father type to help raise your cat children." 

Napoleon has to lean away to laugh a little too loudly. "Yes, yes I did. Now, can we please go be engaged in private, somewhere? Maybe at home? I need to kiss you more than is strictly appropriate for an art gallery.”

Illya hums, considering. “You don’t want to see [Bartolomé Bermejo exhibition](https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/exhibitions/bartolome-bermejo)?”

Rolling his eyes, Napoleon says, “This may come as a surprise to you, but I love _you_ more than I love fine art.” He pulls and Illya follows.

If _The Fighting Temeraire _had ears, it would hear their voices slowly, softly trail further and further away...

_"...So, did you know?" _

_"I didn't! I swear, Peril. You really got me."_

_"Oh, good... But... how did you not know_ at all?"

_"I- wait. You're- Is that why you've been pickpocketing me and- How did I miss... Stop! Laughing!" _

_"...I can't wait to be married to you, Q." _

_"Let's face it, 004, we practically already are." _

__

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks 4 Reading! tumblr @wuhnona


End file.
